See you on Monday!
In the south of France, people have a slightly different approach to appointments than we do in Denmark—time is, to put it mildly, a very flexible concept.
In Denmark, if we’re invited for drinks at 4 p.m., we arrive at 4 p.m. If, against all odds, we’re late, it’s usually because of traffic, a train breakdown, or some other reason that’s definitely not our fault.
But in the South of France… a very special kind of sweet panic sets in if you show up on time. Because 4 p.m. isn’t 4 p.m. – it’s “after 4” and no earlier than 4:30 p.m.
We tried to arrive on time at some friends’ place. They just weren’t there. In fact, they hadn’t even gotten home yet. They showed up 20 minutes later, slightly surprised that we had actually arrived on time. We’ve laughed a lot about that culture clash ever since.
A different rhythm of life
The same goes for tradespeople—though they have even more poetic license. They don’t work to a specific schedule. They often say à demain (on paper: tomorrow) or, when they head off for the weekend, the message is à lundi (on Monday). And this is where the French time experiment really begins. Which Monday? The coming Monday? The next Monday? Or the Monday when he just feels like it?
You quickly learn that “à demain” actually means “sometime in the near future—maybe.”
However, this isn’t about laziness or disrespect. It’s about rhythm. A rhythm of life that isn’t measured in minutes, but in mood, sunshine, and conversation. Plans aren’t promises—they’re intentions. We’d love to come over and run those wires or have that aperitif—but it also has to fit into the flow of the day, the weather, and, if we’re being completely honest, our mood.
On the other hand, when you get together, there’s time. Plenty of time. No one checks their watch or phone. You sit down, enjoy the sun, talk about everything and nothing, and suddenly it all feels just right. Because in the South of France, being present matters more than efficiency—and it’s perfectly fine to stay a little longer than planned. The aperitif often turns into dinner and conversations that stretch well into the evening.
It takes some getting used to when you’re accustomed to the Danish mindset, where people arrive on time and keep their appointments. So here’s some good advice: never prepare hot food for a specific time. And never put ice cubes in the drinks before the guests actually arrive—they’ll have melted long before anyone shows up. And you certainly don’t water down your aperitif down here. That would practically be a cultural insult.
When you’re grocery shopping, time certainly isn’t something you worry about. Everyone accepts that it can take avery long time to get through the checkout. The items have to be bagged, there’s small talk to be had, maybe a check needs to be written (yes, they still use checkbooks!), and then there’s a bit more chatting to do. No one is getting impatient or sighing loudly behind you in line—everyone just takes it as it comes.
The exception to the rule
The only time when time suddenly matters is when the mothers come to pick up their children. Time may not exist for the rest of the day—but once they realize it’s getting late, something very special happens.
Figuratively speaking, a symphony of smoke-belching little old Renault 5s sets off, zooming through the city at high speed, while people gesticulate and swear in true French style. It’s moving fast!
Even the smallest roundabout turns into the multi-lane roundabout at the Arc de Triomphe. Here, it’s every man for himself!
But the good thing is that the kids have grown up with it. After all, “time in a parking lot” isn’t exactly a fixed concept. They know full well that Mom probably just needs to chat for a bit, finish her cigarette, or turn the car around three times before they head home.
We'll make it!
You quickly learn not to take it personally if people are late, or if “tomorrow” turns into “Thursday” and then maybe “next week.” It’ll all work out. As long as you have wine, patience, and a sense of humor, you’ll gradually learn that everything will happen in the end—just not necessarily at the time you, as a Dane, had planned.
